Walls
by JMHaughey
Summary: Challenge - using knife, aquamarine and triathlon: 'It's never a spoon'


**Disclaimer – Nothing from NCIS belongs to me.**

**A/N – Any mistakes about USAT rules, medical terms and symptoms are all mine.**

**Thanks to my Bones ladies: jenlovesbones, BonesSarah and Laffers18 for going out of their comfort zones to read this.**

**JSQ – this is for you.**

oOo

Goggles. Swim cap. Timing chip on. Check. Check. Check.

No horn. Listen for the wave call. Just get in the water. No hesitating.

She thinks to herself, _You've done this before. Focus. You're a Marine._ She looks around to the seven others in the wave. She nods. She is ready.

The water is cold when she dives in for the 1.5 kilometer swim. She has been in colder water.

She hits something or someone. She starts to panic. She takes on water. She cannot breathe. She struggles to keep going. Everything goes black.

A kayaker paddles over but it's too late.

Her lifeless body floats.

oOo

The apartment is dark. Take-out food containers strewn about the coffee table. Two aquamarine candles flickering. Dancing and singing coming from the television. A man sleeping with a smile across his face. His partner laying back, leaning on him, lightly snoring.

Phone rings. A hand reaches out, blindly searching for the phone. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Did I wake you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs gruff voice is on the other end. He straightens up trying not to wake his partner. His hand glides across his face hoping it sends some signal to wake up.

"Uh! No, Boss, but I don't think it matters if you did," DiNozzo replies, hoping he doesn't sound tired.

"We have a dead Marine. McGee and I are outside. You have two minutes."

"I only need one." Since working with Leroy Jethro Gibbs for almost a decade, DiNozzo knows when Gibbs says two minutes, he really means about 30 seconds.

"And DiNozzo, Ziver only has a minute, too." Click. Dial tone.

Nothing gets past him. Nothing.

He lightly coaxes his partner from her sleep. "Gibbs is downstairs."

She wakes up instantly. She mutters, "Tony, I take less time than you to get ready."

DiNozzo and Ziva grab their gear, taking the stairs two by two, reaching the car within the time constraint.

"You're getting better. Less than two minutes," Gibbs informs him after looking at the watch.

Tony leans his head back with the hope he can sleep for the duration of the car ride.

oOo

Since Gibbs was driving, it was not difficult to maneuver through the streets of the District. Every street was lined with red, white and blue banners proudly stating 'WASHINGTON DC TRIATHLON'. Athletes, Armed Forces, First-Timers walking around in colorful unitards. DiNozzo couldn't stop watching the people.

Ziva whispered, "You can close your mouth, Tony."

Tony gives the Ziva a look. McGee looks back as he exits the front seat. Tony says, "Don't say word, McEavesdropper."

"Are you two done? Get out of the car. We have a crime scene to investigate." It seems late in the day for Gibbs to only have had one cup of coffee. DiNozzo makes a mental note to stop for coffee and breakfast before heading back to the Navy Yard.

Gibbs is already leaning over the body while talking to Ducky and Palmer when Ziva, McGee, and Tony make it there.

"Wow, Ducky and Palmer made it here before us. That never happens"

"Well, Tony, we would have been earlier, but we had to wait for you to get ready." McGee remarks laughing.

". . . Jethro, from the preliminary examination, it looks like she died from asphyxiation."

"So, you're telling me she choked in the water?"

"Yes, but once Mister Palmer and I conduct a full autopsy, I can give you more information."

McGee leans down to the body to identify the victim. He announces, "Boss, We got a hit. Staff Sergeant Gwen Groff."

oOo

Gibbs steps up and knocks on the hotel room door. The door opens. A man a little taller than Ziva appears. His brown hair shaved closely to the skull. Wearing a USMC tee-shirt and blue jeans, and no shoes. Gold band adorning his left ring ringer.

"Was it her? Was it Gwen?" he asks, looking tired.

"Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS," he says, reaching to open his ID for the gentleman standing in the doorway. "This is Agent David. Can we speak inside?"

"Yes, please. I'm Todd Groff. Gwen is my wife. Was it her?" He asks again as he moves out of the doorway. He signals to the couch next to the door. Gibbs and Ziva follow him. He takes the chair across from the agents.

Ziva doesn't waste any more time. "Yes, it was your wife. We're sorry for your loss."

"We just have a few questions. Where were you this morning?" Gibbs asks.

"I was in the cheering section at the Triathlon. Gwen was in the first wave so we stayed a hotel near the Washington Mall. She left with a group on the shuttle. I left a little later to see her swim. I didn't see her get out the water and take her bike. I asked the officials if they'd seen her. They were not commenting even though I am her husband. I thought it was best to come back here and wait it out. I suppose they wanted to wait for the NCIS to investigate, hence why you are here."

Gibbs took the lead, "Mr. Groff, anything unusual you can think of happen in the last few weeks between yourself and your wife?"

"Not really, she's been working and training. I work on base at the hospital at night so we mainly catch-up on the weekends. . . Oh, you know what? She did go out for a pre-Triathlon dinner with some Marine teammates. It's become a tradition of the team."

"Do you have the teammates names?"

"Yeah, we're all friends. Same group of nine go out." Gibbs gets his notepad ready. "Lisa Jenks, Brian Driscoll, Carter Aldridge, Emily Cass, Jenna Bennett, Nick Turner, Steve Collington, Sarah Burton, and George Foster."

Gibbs and Ziva stand up as does Todd. "Thank you for your time. We'll be in touch." And they head out the door.

oOo

The elevators open to the third floor of the NCIS building. The sun is shining brightly through skylights, making the orange walls shine. McGee and DiNozzo are sitting at their desks typing. DiNozzo is on a movie spiel. "Jimmy Stewart and Grace Kelly, well, Princess Grace. Hitchcock's finest work, Rear Window. . . How have you never seen it, McLame?"

"Did you get any real work done, DiNozzo?" Hearing the boss's voice, his back straightens in the chair.

"Yes, Boss. McGee and I talked to all the triathlon buddies. Seems they all went to dinner then for a couple of adult beverages, which is strange because I figured alcohol would be detrimental to training, but what do I know? The ladies confirmed Gwen stepped in the middle of an argument at the bar. A patron pushed her hard. She didn't fall, but she did hit her head on a pool table. Apparently, Mrs. Groff just got back up, shook it off and the group left."

"Ziva, call the husband back and see if she may have replayed the bar scene to him."

"I'm on it, Gibbs."

Gibbs phone rings. He already on the move to autopsy.

McGee looks at Tony. "How does he do that?"

"He is Yoda, but with a knife."

oOo

Gibbs arrives on the bottom floor. The automatic silver sliding doors open as soon as he steps foot off the elevator.

He's barely on the other side when he starts speaking, "What ya got for me, Duck?"

"Asphyxiation precluded by subdural hematoma, Jethro. She must have been suffering from constant or fluctuating headaches, lethargy, and dizziness."

"So, a push followed by her hitting her head on something would bring this on. DiNozzo said she tried to stop a fight a few weeks ago. She hit her head. Never went to get checked out."

The doors open again. Ziva appears with DiNozzo and McGee.

"Boss, the husband didn't know anything about the injury. It doesn't sound like anything was bothering her. He said she was pre-occupied the race so nothing would stop her from doing it."

"Rule Number #39," Gibbs says flatly.

"There is no such thing as coincidence." They say in unison.

oOo

Another case closed.

Another work day over.

Another night of take-out containers.

After years of chipping away, the walls they built individually came tumbling down.

They gave in, finally.

Every night, Tony DiNozzo wraps Ziva David up in this arms. Every night, he holds her tight because he can, but it's never a spoon.


End file.
